


There Is a Light That Never Goes Out

by puffintalia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Autistic Character, Chibi Iceland (Hetalia), Christmas, M/M, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27549655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puffintalia/pseuds/puffintalia
Summary: Sigurður is only six, and he's lost everything. Lukas is only 24, and he's given everything up.He didn't want to be stuck looking after his little brother. With Sigurður's silence and their eighteen year distance, he feels more like a stranger than family. And now Christmas is coming up: between balancing long shifts and his own problems, can Lukas mend the void that's been ripped in his family?
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 49





	1. Distance

**Author's Note:**

> ah, yes, ive hit Top Level Pretentious: naming a fic after a smiths song
> 
> thank u to everyone that helped me on this, i couldnt do it without u, lets be honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look yeah i know everyone hates first person fics but bear with me because look... its important to the story and the message here. that sounds pretentious. point is this is in first person, sure, but give it a chance. i promise its not one of t h o s e fics

Rain hammers on the dirty windshield, a river of muddy water cascading down the glass faster than the wipers could handle. I sigh. At least it's cheaper than the car wash. 

In the back seat, Sigurður stares silently at the road, clutching Mr Puffin tight to his chest. It's been a long time since being picked up so late has made him cry, but he still hates it. I think having to stay at the after-school club when all the other kids have gone, with no one left but an underpaid teacher probably desperate to get home to her own life, makes him feel lonely. I can't help it, I remind myself. I barely even have time to drive from one job to the other, let alone pick Sig up in between. And it's not like sitting at home with a babysitter while I work my last shift would be any different. Just more expensive. 

Sig doesn't appreciate that though. And he wouldn't, he's only six. He still remembers when Mum and Dad would pick him up at 3pm and take him to the park with his friends. Now they're gone and he's stuck with miserable old Lukas, the half-brother twenty years his senior, who doesn't bother to pick him up till nearly seven. 

I feel guilty every time. Only six, and there he sits after closing on his own for an hour, often enough that it doesn't worry him anymore. Just Lukas leaving him alone like always. He doesn't talk, really - he never has - but something in those big, deep eyes tells me he doesn't want to anymore even if he could. Not to me. They don't shine like they used to, as he glares at me with a careful reproach. I've failed him and I know it.

He's got a new figure next to him. One of those  _ Bunny Ninja _ toys from the adverts. I ask him about it, but he just keeps staring out the window. I hope a friend gave it to him, but if he'd picked up a stealing habit, I doubt I'd have noticed. Does he even have any friends? I think I asked once or twice, back when he still answered me, but I don't know if he still sees them. I'd hate to think he spends his school days as alone as I did. 

The rain eases up as we reach our turning, the click-clock of the indicator actually audible over the downpour. In the mirror, I catch Sig's tiny smile as he wags his foot in time. He's always liked that noise. 

Once we get home, it's bath and bed. The after school club gives him his tea and I pack him a few extra snacks when I can afford it to make sure he's not going hungry. It's too late tonight for a story, so he clambers into bed in silence. Mr Puffin takes his sacred place on his pillow and he asks me to put the Bunny Ninja figure next to him. 

"Isn't it a bit too hard? I don't want you accidentally rolling over onto it. It looks like it could hurt." 

He glares at me again and I give in. It's so rare for anything different to happen nowadays that I can't help but give in to him. He hugs it close, content. I kiss his forehead and he wrinkles his nose, turning away as I flick the light off. I think he thinks I can't see him wipe the kiss away. 

Downstairs feels big and empty in the dark and the rain, but I'm accustomed enough to being alone for it not to bother me too much. Dinner is another pot noodle, an extra packet of soy sauce I scavenged from the canteen at the hospital I clean at added in as a treat because the weather is so bad. The thought makes me nostalgic - bad-weather treats were always a Mum habit. I eat on the sofa, watching the subtitles roll across the TV. It's a habit I picked up when Sig was really little - even the quietest sounds could wake him - but now the silence is hard to break. 

It breaks anyway, and instinctively I glance to the ceiling, expecting to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet come running. They don't and the phone keeps ringing. I doubt Sig'd run to me anymore, anyway. 

It's unusual for someone to be calling this late - too late for school - and I find myself praying they're not changing my shifts. It's taken me so long to find two jobs that work together… 

The voice on the phone isn't one I recognise, though. An accent I can't place introduces itself as Yao Wang and apologises for calling. He got my number through the school and he knows it's weird but he's been meaning to catch me for ages and he never quite caught me in the playground. I nod, forgetting he can't see me through the phone, and feel the guilt wrench in my stomach. I'm never early enough to pick Sig up from the playground. 

"My Leon lent your - Siggi, isn't it? - his Bunny Ninja," he continues and I freeze up. I knew he shouldn't have it. I start to apologise and jump to my feet. I'm halfway up the stairs to snatch it off him before Yao laughs and tells me it's fine. 

"I'm glad Leon's finally made a friend." 

My anxiety dies down a bit at that. So Sig does have friends, that's a relief. I even think I remember the staff at the breakfast club mentioning a Leon, so they must be quite close. Sig, of course, never said anything. As always, he reminds me a bit too much of myself. 

"To what do I owe you the pleasure?" I ask, and then correct myself. "To what does Sig owe Leon the pleasure." 

"Leon would be very glad if Siggi could do him the pleasure of coming for a playdate after school one day. Whenever's best for you, but he's got kung fu on Wednesdays." 

He waits there for an answer, leaving me marvelling at a dad who has enough time and money to take his kids to a martial arts class. Is there anything Sig wants to do? I know he likes to draw, or at least I assume he does from the number of puffin illustrations that've found their way onto our fridge. Perhaps I could enroll him in an art club, though I doubt it would fill enough time to keep him occupied after school. I almost ask Yao how he does it, but I don't think the answer would offer me any help. 

"How long are we saying?" I ask, immediately self-conscious. The idea of having to turn down Sig's best chance of friendship because a stranger doesn't want to take my child long enough feels wrong on every level and I find myself desperately checking my calendar for a day I can take off from the care home job. 

"Until about half five?" he says, and I have to hide my sigh of relief. 

"Tuesday, then?" I finish an hour earlier on Tuesdays, to avoid having a shift change in the middle of bingo night, but Yao doesn't need to know that. He tells me an address and a phone number and I jot it down - not without noting its location in one of the posher parts of town. We agree on next Tuesday and that's it. Sorted. Sig's first playdate. 

It's almost embarrassing how excited I feel as I write the date and time in the calendar. I feel like I've done something right for once and I genuinely can't wait to see the look on his face when I tell him. As I curl back up on the sofa with my (now cold) pot noodle, my hands are still shaking from the adrenaline.

I don't tell Sig about the playdate the next morning out of a fear that it will inevitably go wrong. Leon's Bunny Ninja - not squished in the night like I feared - gets a proud seat next to Mr Puffin at the breakfast table, because Sig waking up early for once gives him time for a real breakfast. I keep his favourite cereal just for occasions like this. 

"Did Leon lend you the bunny?" I ask, and immediately regret it. He looks up at me with an expression somewhere between confused and scared, as if to ask how I could possibly know his secrets. The Bunny Ninja quickly leaves the table after that. 

As we drive to school in silence, I try to find a way to tell him that he doesn't have to hide his friends from me, but "I'm not mad about the doll" just makes him curl up further into his booster seat. 

When we reach the school gates, I kiss him on the cheek and he runs off toward another small boy I vaguely remember seeing before, waving the figure above his head. That must be Leon, I decide. He looks nice enough and he waves his own figure back in response. His dad - Yao, I remind myself - isn't anywhere in sight. Í must've just missed him. I wave anyway and he waves back, Sig glaring at me like I've ruined their conversation. 

The morning at the hospital is hectic, to say the least. The usual, sure, but then a toilet gets blocked in the bathroom on corridor E3A (east wing, third floor, main corridor) and it all goes downhill from there. 

I pick up a mop and got to work. 

Friends… You can probably guess I've never been one for them. I suppose the closest I've got to a friend is Berwald, but how much of our relationship is built on friendship and how much on pity is one of those questions that I never really want an answer to. We were in the same class at med school, before I had to drop out to look after Sig, and now he's found me again. He works on rotation in the wards to finish his studies and I'm here cleaning toilets. God, to think where I could've been. Berwald's never seemed to judge me for it, though I know he must do it internally. 

I'm not sure what he was doing on corridor E3A - the schedule he'd shown me had put him in the Children's Hospital all this week. Maybe he'd heard news of St Margaret's' biggest hygiene disaster of the month and figured  _ ah, yes, Hagen must be in the middle of that _ . Whatever reason, he's here now, pretending the smell doesn't bother him. Somehow it  _ is _ more bearable when you have someone to complain to about it. 

"How do you fuck up this badly?" I ask, to no one in particular, but a Berwald-y no one is much better than a real no one. "Surely at some point someone's gotta think, _ah, this looks like a problem, I shouldn't contribute any more to it_. But no. Because people are stupid. _Let's add to the shit-pile_ , metaphorically speaking." 

"Doesn't look like a metaphor to me," he says. I nod in agreement. “You coming fer lunch later? Timo won’t stop talkin’ about that new café on Pearl Street.”

Ah, Timo. The junior nurse from the Children’s Hospital. Nice enough, and it’s obvious Berwald likes him, even if he can’t see it himself. He means well, I remind myself, and I’m genuinely grateful for the offer. But sometimes he forgets I’m working and living on half the salary of the doctors here. Try as I might, I just can’t afford that kind of thing. And even if I could… I think I’d want to save the money for Sig. Finally give him the treats he deserves and all that.

“Can’t make it,” I say. It’s a convenient lie and Berwald’s too nice to question it. Helps that he hasn’t started to wonder what a cleaner needs so many meetings for. “An’ anyway, I reckon Timo’ll be glad to get ya alone.”

He frowns in confusion and I almost laugh at how oblivious he can be, until I hit the source of the blockage. Dear God. The smell is atrocious. Even my years of desensitisation can’t stop me from retching. Berwald takes it as his cue to leave, slipping out the door without a word. He gives me a small nod though, and that counts as words enough for the two of us. Always has done.

I spend my lunch hour avoiding Pearl Street, which is normally hard, considering that’s where the cheap supermarket is. Instead, I go with Sad ık to the small, grubby cafeteria on the fifth floor. Their sandwiches are grey and stale and there’s a suspicious mold between the seat cushions, but it’s cheap and it’s easy and it lets me keep up my lie. Sadık is good company, too - a recent Turkish immigrant and one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. Smarter than me by far. He’s got two PhDs from Turkey’s top medical schools and speaks English better than I do, but there was some sort of problem with his qualifications transferring when he moved and now… Well, I guess he’s stuck here with me, eating dull grey sandwiches in our moldy booth at the back of the cafeteria. It feels good to have the company of someone else who understands what it’s like to be screwed over by circumstance, but I have to remind myself it won’t last. He’ll get his paperwork sorted soon enough and off he’ll go to greener pastures. 

He has a son, but he's a few years older than Sig. We tried having him over but… Well, it's a bit hard for a twelve year old to make friends with a primary schooler that doesn't even talk. He talks about him all lunch. I like Sadık. He doesn’t expect me to answer. Though I'm glad we don't have to deal with homework yet, seeing how much Sadık complains about it. It's too much for a little kid. It might be too much for me, too, by the sounds of it. 

Ten minutes later, I’m off again, praying that weird rattling noise my car is making will hold together long enough for me to get to the care home in time. I drive past Berwald and Timo on their way back to the hospital and Ber gives me a wave. Timo shouts something, but I can’t quite catch it over that racket from the engine. I give him a shrug and hope for the best.

The care home is quieter than the hospital. Smaller, less crowded, but the same solemn sterility, the same constant background beep and blink of medical machinery. There's a gentle hum of conversation, though. Less frantic families and better-than-thou surgeons, more… camaraderie. The same patients day in, day out. Lonely enough they even bother to know the cleaners, after a while. Anyone to talk to. 

God, only twenty four and I already feel like a care home patient. 

Emma in reception smiles at me as I clock in. 

"Hey." 

"Hey." She's wearing a new lipstick, I think. Bright red, like something out of a vintage advert. It suits her. Her hair is curled and she's wearing a dress - nothing like her usually grey t-shirt and worn leggings. She must have a date tonight, then. Ha. First Berwald, now her. Once upon a time, I would've been jealous. Scared I was missing out. It's been too long for me to care anymore. I register it in my brain though, make sure to ask her about it tomorrow. 

"Your secret admirer's spilt her drink again." She winks, and I'm not sure if her laugh is out of humour or pity. "Won't let Ludwig in to clean it up and it's driving him mad." 

"Oh, of course she has." If old Doris ís one thing, it's reliable. Every Friday like clockwork, 2:30pm exactly, down goes her drink onto the floor and only the 'pretty blond boy' is allowed to clear it up. She thinks she's being sneaky about it. It was weird at first, but it's become a running joke among the staff by now. Only Ludwig still really gets annoyed about it. 

I pick up my mop and head down to the ward, leaving Emma to finish tidying her papers. 

Never mind. Being hit on by a ninety year old is still weird, even if you're used to it. 

I try to ignore Doris' more lively comments as best I can. In quick, out quicker. She can't help herself - hell, it must be hard enough being ninety and stuck in a care home - so I try to tolerate it as much as I can. Still awkward, but at least her son isn't here this time. 

Once I've cleaned up her not-at-all deliberate mess and dodged the more… embarrassing topics of conversation, Emma calls me down to explain that she's got to leave early, Antonio's just pulling in the car park, would I do her a favour and make sure Ludwig knows for her? I nod, looking at the pile of papers still on the desk. Katya doesn't get in till four. 

I find Ludwig and explain to him and he just grimaces, shaking his head. 

"I'll have a word with her tomorrow." 

I can't help but feel a twinge of regret, but it's better than her disappearing without a word. This isn't the first time, though. She's got good enough qualifications. No family obligations. I don't blame her for wanting to get out of here. 

After that, I go deal with a 'food spillage'. That's my code for when I go sit in the dementia ward for an hour or so and listen to Arthur Kirkland relive his years in the war. Today's a good day, and I stay and hear him talk about his old French sweetheart for longer than I should. We've tried tracking her down before but, well. There's a thousand Manons in Paris alone. 

Our chat is disturbed by a knocking at the door, and a little girl runs in, waving her new doll over her head. He laughs, but I can see in his eyes he barely remembers her. A beloved stranger. 

Mm. Let's not go down those thoughts. 

The sudden appearance of little Amelia and her father jolts me back into reality. I excuse myself, taking my bucket with me. Sig must be out of school now, then. He says after-school club is boring, that there's nothing to do. The other kids don't want to play with him, and it probably makes him worse. He sits with Mrs Hédévary and makes his puzzles with the pieces missing and I'm glad she's there, at least. I wish I could afford to show her how much her kindness means for the both of us. I wish I could afford to be there for him myself. 

Arthur's grandson smiles at me when he leaves. Thanks me for taking care of his grandad. 

"I'm just the cleaner," I tell him. 

He shakes his head. "You talk to him more than anyone else here, son. Dunno what we'd do without ya." 

I shrug back, watching Amelia run around the reception space. Her doll is another one of those Bunny Ninja things, but it's a character I haven't seen before. How many even are there? 

"He's good company," I say, and Alfred's smile is half understanding, half pity. He turns and takes his daughter by her hand, pushing open the big plastic door with the other. As they walk away, I hear her mention something about the new episode of that TV show and how she can't miss it. I make a mental note to record it for Sig.

Katya doesn't look at me as she leafs through the papers. "Have a good evening, Lukas." 

Is it really time to go yet? I check the clock and wonder how it got so late. Darkness fell and, under the fluorescent care home lights, I didn't even notice. If I head off now, I'll only be five minutes late for Sig. With a grateful nod, I stow my broom in the cleaning cupboard and head out to the car, my breath fogging up in front of me as I walk. God, I hope the engine holds out. 


	2. Playdate

The next week passes mostly without incident. By Monday evening, the winter chill has really started to set in. I've almost finished with my rounds of the nursing home when little Amelia runs up to me and tugs on my leg. 

"Daddy says you're putting up the Christmas tree next week! Can I help? Can I help? Can I help?" 

That time of year already? Really? I sigh. The annual Christmas tree is a sorry affair, just a cheap tinsel thing Emma got at the bargain shop and some old baubles left by long-retired coworkers. Still, it's been my job to put it up every year, and for the past two, it's been a duty I've shared with my very own little elf helper. 

"Sure you can, kid," I say. It's not like she needs to ask at this point - it's nearly as much her job as mine. 

At the thought of decorating Christmas trees, I can almost forgive myself for letting the year slip by so fast. It's always been my favourite part of the holiday season, ever since I was little. Mum made it into a special tradition. One new bauble per family member per year, until her little wicker hamper started to overflow and the flimsy plastic tree branches hung low with the weight of a life's story in glass. Getting them back out every year is a ritual in its own right, each glittering snowflake and ceramic puffin a precious reminder of the family not here to see them. 

Amelia beams and runs after her dad, giggling. I hear her chattering away to him excitedly about their Christmas preparations and I can't help but wonder when Sig last smiled like that. Not since his parents… left, at least. 

He might like the Christmas tree, though. Maybe I can convince Ludwig to let me bring him in. 

\---

Tuesday morning is cold and dark. I wake Sig up before the sun even thinks of peeking over the horizon. Why they make them go to school this early, I don't know. At least it fits my shifts better. He wiggles into his polo shirt as I pull his little navy jumper from the drier. No time to iron his shorts, but it's not like the teachers aren't used to his crumpled uniform. Sometimes they send him home in a cleaner, less holey jumper than I sent him in and the knowledge of how badly I'm failing him hurts deeper than any pitying glance they could cast in my direction. 

The Bunny Ninja stares at me from his bedside table. It doesn’t leave his side. Even Mr Puffin lies discarded at the end of the bed. He's been fixated on it since he got it, to the point that I almost think it's more important to him than me. A few times now I've caught him gazing at it when he's meant to be doing his homework, a tiny smile creeping across his tiny face. Well, at least it's something he likes. Puffins and Bunny Ninja. Bunny Ninja and puffins. 

Sig's never been one to like something in moderation. Everything he sees, does, feels is either an object of adoration to be focused on and admired and memorised for hours on end, or some despicable filth not worthy of consideration. It's a pain in the ass sometimes, having to spend ten minutes in the morning adjusting his car seat and blanket so the itchy fabric doesn't touch his skin, or having to cut the crust off his sandwiches and give them to him separately, because he doesn't mind eating them, just not together with the rest of it, or spending my dinner times listening to the same three puffin facts - or puffling facts, apparently, when it's about the babies - on permanent repeat.

At least you know where you stand with him. Leon is practically a god. I fall firmly into the second category. 

Sighing, I watch Sig carefully pack the figure into his bag. It's nice to know he has a friend close enough to share his toys with him, especially for this long. But, still… It's just another act of charity. When it comes down to it. 

I hope Leon doesn't miss it. Sig could do with one of his own, really. Maybe if I took that Saturday morning shift… 

No, it wouldn't be fair on Sig. Or on Sadık, because there's no way I could send him to a daycare. The fees would be as much as my extra pay. And anyway, they wouldn't know how to look after him. 

He knows what's happening this afternoon - Leon told him yesterday, apparently - and looks at me cautiously, hugging the figure tight. I force a smile. 

"Remember to be on your best behaviour," I remind him. It's mostly pointless - he's the most well-behaved kid I've ever met. I told Yao about his condition too, just in case, because I know Sig doesn't like strangers. "If you need something and you can't talk to Leon's dad, make sure you tell Leon, yeah? And he can ask for you." 

Sig nods. It's a system he knows well. The list of people he talks to is short: me, Leon, Miss Hédévary and the speech therapist. Sadık on a good day. 

"Thank you," he says, his voice as quiet as ever. Barely above a whisper. I look at him, confused. 

"What for?" I ask. He grabs onto my fingers as we walk down the stairs. He never does this, and I start to worry if he's nervous about the playdate. He glares at me, like he’s offended I had to ask.

"Leon," he says, by way of explanation. He climbs onto the sofa, tapping his tiny hand against the window. Next-door's cat eyes it through the glass. 

"Are you excited?" I ask, and he thinks for a second, then nods. He's in a good mood, after all. I can never tell. I pull his coat off the peg and hold up his rucksack so he can stick his arms in. 

As we get closer to school, Sig closes off more, his eyebrows furrowing. I hate how anxious school makes him, but homeschooling would isolate him even more. We talked with the therapist about sending him to a "special" school instead, but with my work schedule and no after-school clubs, it was tragically unrealistic. It's like the world thinks disabilities are for the rich only. Boarding was an option, but he's already had one set of parents leave him. He doesn't need to be abandoned again. Not that I'm ever around much anyway. 

Maybe he'd prefer it. It's selfish of me to assume. They'd be there for him 24/7, which is more than I'll ever manage. To him, our bond probably isn't strong enough to worry about. It's just me who's scared of it breaking. Would Sig even miss me? 

"Have fun," I tell him, brushing his fringe aside to kiss him on the forehead, mostly just to try to prove that I do make an attempt to care for him for the few hours he’s not at school. Sig nods. As I turn away, his hand flies up to his face before he turns and runs after a giggling Leon. I hope it'll be okay. 

I don't get much time to worry. My shift at the hospital starts ten minutes later. Once again, the car park is full, so I ditch my car at the bottom of the hill and sprint. 

It feels like I've had the breath ripped from my chest by the time I reach the main foyer. With no time for exercise, I'm falling more and more out of shape. You wouldn't see it to look at me - a diet of pot noodles and skipped breakfasts has kept me as much of a beanpole as ever. My ribs stick out at weird angles and I'm sure it doesn't help my breathing, but I've survived for the last 24 years, so it can't be a big deal. I have enough to worry about as it is. 

Sadık reaches the doors seconds after me, similarly out of breath. He grins.

"Mornin'!"

"Mornin'," I reply, chest still heaving. He shakes it off quickly, twirling the key for the supply cupboard round his finger. At this time in the morning, the energy is almost painful. "You seem cheerful." 

"Yeah," he says. His smile is wider than I thought was physically possible. "Almost got it sorted with the employment people." 

Oh. _Oh._ His qualifications. 

I should be glad for him. It's amazing news. Soon enough, he'll be one of the top doctors in the hospital, earning more money than he'll ever imagine. He'll be happy doing the thing he loves and providing the best life for his son. 

He'll forget about me. Poor, worthless Lukas. Sadık is the only person I know who really understands what it means to be in my situation. Overworked on minimum wage, a kid at home to stop any thought of switching jobs in its tracks. Over the weeks we've spent in each others' company, I'd even say we'd built a tentative friendship. Berwald and Timo are nice enough, but they don't really get it. In a few months, Sadık won't either. 

He must see my face fall as I look away, because before I realise, there's a strong arm across my shoulders. The contact is foreign to me and I seize up. He should know I don't like people touching me without warning.

"I'm not gonna abandon ya, bud," he says, and I fake a grimace. I wish I could believe him. 

\---

Emma's gone, then. It was to be expected. 

When I walk through the doors of the nursing home, I'm greeted - or rather, not greeted - by some studious-looking teen girl with a long, dark ponytail. She doesn't seem to realise I'm there. I think she might be doing her homework behind the desk, which explains why Ludwig was willing to hire someone so young. I doubt she'll talk to me, and I know I won't talk to her. It's fine by me. The less people I speak to, the less I have to deal with. 

Maybe Berwald was right when he said I have a habit of isolating myself. I only spoke to Emma once a week at most, and then I just listened to her ramble about whatever new guy she was dating. It was more interesting than Doris. Even with Sadık, I only talk because he introduced himself first and basically bullied me into spending my lunch with him. Berwald is different

We knew each other before… the incident, and anyway, I very rarely see him nowadays. Honestly, if it weren't for Sig, I'd easily go all week without saying a word to anyone. Sometimes it even feels like he talks more than I do. 

I don't try to make myself unlikable on purpose. Years of teasing have made me constantly on edge, guarded and reclusive. Too blunt, too cynical, offering no more than one word answers if I can help it. Often, I turn people away before I can even give them a chance, based on split-second judgement I know I should feel guilty for. Whatever I can do to keep myself safe, I suppose. 

It's not like I'm the best looker, either. If my god-awful personality doesn't ward people off, my appearance does. Too tall for my weight, some sort of freakish gangly creature, ready to topple over at a moment's notice. Too bony for my own good. Weird and alien. Acne scars still linger from teenagehood. My hair hangs in a loose… mop, really, that somehow manages to miss "fashionable" for every single decade in human history. It needs a trim desperately - more than that - but I never seem to have the time. Dad always used to remind me how bony I am, how hollow my cheeks are, how dark the bags are under my eyes. He's right, of course. I look almost comically inhuman. Don't think I've had the courage to look in a mirror for years.

Berwald and I used to date, you know. It feels surreal now that I could ever have deserved it. We broke up when Mum and my step-dad… moved on. Didn't think it'd be fair on Sig if I went out on dates all the time. Wouldn't be fair to let him get used to someone just to have them ripped away again, either. Still, seeing everyone else my age out dating and drinking and partying, I can't help but feel like I'm missing out. Like I've had some great part of my life ripped out. I should have graduated top of my class from med school. I should have been going clubbing with my classmates, even though the pounding music gives me a migrane. I should have been young and stupid and carefree. 

It's not Sig's fault. He didn't ask for this, and I try my hardest not to blame him. I'd sacrifice anything for him - hell, I already have. It’s not like I’d do it if I got the chance. I prefer being on my own. It’s safer, and I don’t have to put up with idiots like Emma’s Antonio. I don’t do _social_. Everyone knows that.

Arthur's having one of his bad days today. He doesn't recognise me when I walk in, only stops me as I brush past him to ask me when Manon will be back from the hospital shift. I smile and shake my head. _Sorry, I don't know._

Alfred - _"call me Freddie"_ , but the name doesn't suit him at all - doesn't visit on Tuesdays. Some sort of work meeting. Today, it's probably for the better. Putting on a brave face won't fool me. It's obvious how much his dad's condition distresses him. 

Doris' family, on the other hand, _is_ here today, much to my relief. She's clearly too embarrassed to pull her stunt in front of an audience, so it's a welcome break from her Edwardian pick up lines. Instead, I spend my afternoon making up the empty beds in the new ward for the incoming patients and putting up signs for next week's fundraiser. 

It was Emma's idea, and it's a shame she won't be here to see it: a raffle and half a marathon in honour of childhood leukemia. Apparently, her neighbour's daughter was diagnosed last month. 

I've only put forward a suggestion once. Compared to all those life-threatening illnesses, the Association for Selective Mutism was nowhere near dramatic enough to garner any real support. I think mine might've been the only vote. 

The next few hours pass in silence. There's not much interesting in mopping floors. By the time my shift comes to an end, the sun is already setting. 

"Bye, Lukas." Katya smiles at me from behind the desk. The girl from before must have left without a word. "You sure you don't want to stay for bingo? Doris could do with a new partner." 

"I don’t think her husband would like that." Only when I’ve reached the end of my sentence do I realise it was a joke. She gives me a weird look and walks away. Maybe I'm the one that needs classes on how to talk to people, not Sig. 

Sig. I can't be late. Leaving him at school is bad enough, let alone in an unfamiliar house. Did I remember to pack Mr Puffin in his bag this morning? What if he's upset? What if he's having a meltdown and I'm not there to help him? Leon knows what makes him tick better than I do, but, shit, he's just a kid. He's no older than Siggi. He shouldn't have to look after him. 

Scrambling through my pockets, I pull out the post-it with the Wang's address and punch it into my sat-nav. Twenty five minutes. I should be there just in time. 

\---

There’s a sort of gentle shame as I pull into a road lined with cars worth twice my salary. Only ten minutes late. I find a spot between a Tesla and a BMW and get out, trying not to flinch as the door slams with a concerning rattling sound. 

So this is the Wangs’ house. I knock on a door not stained by traffic fumes and wait on a doormat without holes and hope from the bottom of my heart that Sig doesn’t see the differences as starkly as I do. Ten minutes late, ten more minutes he’s left to feel unwanted.

“Come in! Come in.” Yao’s shirt is bright white, ironed perfectly, and clearly expensive. In my rumpled grey jumper, I feel like an overgrown child, just playing at being a grown-up. “They’re out the back.”

My mind doesn’t even have time to comprehend the interior of the house - big, bright, clean - before I’m shepherded into a garden that seems to stretch on forever. Realistically, I know I can see the fence in front of me, but compared to our shabby three metres of dead grass and grey paving, it’s basically Eden. Yao leads me over to a bench and picks up a jug I hadn’t even noticed.

“Care for a drink? It’s only squash, mind. I made it for the kids.”

I shake my head and he pours himself a glass. The kids. There’s laughter from the other end of the garden, and one voice chattering away. Leon pokes his head over the top of the climbing frame. 

“Siggi, your dad is here!”

“Not his dad!” Yao shouts, shaking his head as he turns to me. “Sorry, I’ve tried to explain it to him so many times, he just doesn’t seem to get it.”

“It’s okay,” I say. Another reminder that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be the person Sig needs me to be. His dad is gone, replaced by a fraud that leaves him on his own in stranger’s gardens. I’m no father. I’m just the man who raises him. While Leon gets a climbing frame, Sig has to make do with old cereal boxes and a grubby old puffin that I didn’t even buy for him. The fews paints he has are mostly dried up, and I don’t have the time or money to replace them. I’ve failed him. I’m still failing him. One day, I fear, he’ll look back and be ashamed to admit where he came from. Who raised him. Raised him, but never more. Leon is beloved. Sigurður is merely tolerated.

“He’s a great kid,” Yao says, and I know it’s just code for ‘too anxious to argue’. When Leon runs to him and lets him ruffle his hair, I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. Sig just looks at me with reproach. It’s clear he doesn’t want to go home. “He can come and stay any time he wants.”

I grimace, trying to ignore Yao’s pitying expression. There’s a next line he doesn’t say out loud, but I know it’s there. I don’t need his charity.

“Thank you,” I say, because my pride shouldn’t ruin Sig’s best shot at a real human connection. Hell, it’s already ruined everything else in his life.


	3. A Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so long past Christmas I really didn't time things well

Shopping, I have to say, is my least favourite pastime. Two hours of wandering round crowded, noisy streets, looking at things I couldn’t afford even if I bought nothing else all year. Siggi hates it too. It’s boring and slow and his little legs get tired quick. I need him to try the clothes on, though. Make sure there’s growing room and all.

Sig’s moaning already and we’re not even in town yet. He kicks his legs on the bus seats, clutching Mr Puffin tight. At least his ticket is free. Feels like every time we come, it gets more and more expensive, but I’d rather pay the exorbitant fees than take my chances with the car engine any more than I have to.

We get off the bus on the corner of Prince’s Street. It’s quieter here - a bit further from the city centre, but close enough to the shops that Sig’s still happy to walk. He needs a new school uniform before some well-intentioned office lady decides he’s her pet charity case again. Even as he skips along the pavement in front of me, I can’t help but notice how his jeans barely reach his ankles.

First stop is the Oxfam a few doors down. Useless as normal, but it’s worth a look anyway. Sometimes there’s hidden treasures, though they happen less and less with all the new trends for “thrifted fashion”. The only kids clothes they have are frilly 70s monstrosities and a pair of shoes that are more hole than leather. Still, Sig manages to find himself a picture book that isn’t in too bad a state. It’s only 15p. For once, my guilt lets me get away with the frivolous purchase. Not much else you can use that 15p for. Probably won’t even get you a Freddo nowadays.

The next stop is M&S. Even as we step through the door, I feel that sinking feeling in my stomach, yelling at me that everything is miles out of our price range. It's the only place to get school uniforms, though. At least if I want them to last for more than two washes. Buy them big enough and it'll be a good two years before he needs the next lot. 

It's not hard to find what we're looking for. Not like I have much choice in what he wears, anyway. Two white polo shirts because the collars are wearing through on the old ones, and two pairs of plain black trousers. Usually, I'd only get one of each, but they're on buy one, get one free at the moment. I'm ashamed to say my heart races when I see the sign. We get the jumpers through the school, so he'll have to wait until that hole in his sleeve is big enough to fit his arm through. I briefly consider getting him new shorts, wondering if he'll overheat in the summer term. We can cross that bridge when we get to it. At least shorts are designed to be a bit… well. Short. 

On our way to the till, I let Sig look around the rest of the kids' section. He doesn't really comment on what he likes. Just wanders through the racks, inspecting the clothes in front of him with what looks like some sort of method, though what it is, I don't know. Sometimes I just wish I could see what's in his head. 

He stops for longer than normal in front of a Bunny Ninja t-shirt and a pair of penguin pyjamas and I take it as my cue to sneak a photo and send it to Berwald. I've told him time and time again he doesn't need to buy us presents, but he insists. Oh well. At least these look cheap enough, I don't feel like a leech asking for them. 

Sig gets bored of it soon enough and we take our place in the queue. It’s nice just to walk around, I guess. Going out shopping every other month or so is probably the biggest change of scenery he gets. Poor kid, huh. If I could take him somewhere nicer, I would, I remind myself. We just don’t have that option right now. At least the city centre makes an effort with the Christmas decorations - they should keep him at least slightly entertained for an afternoon. I like going on walks with him, despite the cold. It gives us both something to do.

I wince as the total flashes on the screen and scramble to pull out my card, praying it won’t decline. I know it shouldn’t, but there’s always that constant, lingering paranoia that maybe I’ve miscalculated, maybe I misread a tag, maybe I’d bought something I’ve forgotten about. It doesn’t. I breathe a sigh of relief.

As we leave, Siggi takes the bag out of my hands, insisting he can carry it.

“I’m a big boy now,” he whispers, his little eyebrows furrowed. “I’m at big school! I can do it myself.” His face is grave and sullen as ever. I swear the bag is nearly as big as he is. Still, I let him take it - anything to make sure he’s happy. He hobbles along, but it’s obviously too much for him. Mr Puffin wobbles on the top. He’s not as big as he thinks he is, and the thought is somewhat relieving. I don’t want to imagine what will happen to us the day he decides he doesn’t need me anymore. 

“Come on then, silly puffin,” I say, reaching down to gently grab his hood. He pouts as I take hold of it, but he seems to realise the other option is giving up his bag so he can hold my hand. “Or are you too big to look at the Christmas lights?”

He shakes his head, rocking up on his toes, making grabby hands around the bag and nuzzling my trouser leg. “Can we go see Father Christmas?”   
  
“I’m not sure Father Christmas is working yet,” I say. It’s not quite a lie. Even if he is, I’m not sure he works for free. “But maybe we’ll find a Rudolph, hey?”

Sig nods. A Rudolph is good enough for him. He lets me pick him up - he’s heavier than I remember - and we make our way out onto the street. The twinkling lights really do look magical in the near-twilight. How many months of winter, and still I haven’t gotten used to the early sunsets? Siggi reaches up as we walk under them, trying to catch the strings in his little hands in stunned silence. He’s squirming less than usual, so I can only take that as a sign he’s happy.

“Look,” he says, his voice hushed. “A Rudolph.”

I turn around - forgetting that that turns Sig in the opposite direction - and he’s right. Above the opening to the Christmas market sits a reindeer sculpture built of hundreds, if not thousands of tiny glittering lights.

“Can I pet it?”

“I don’t think Rudolph would like that,” I tell him. It’s too cold to stay outside much longer and I’m starting to grow jealous of the line at the hot chocolate stall across the square. I set Sig down on the floor and take his hand, tucking the bag under my arm. He’s still transfixed by the reindeer.

“Come on,” I tell him, tugging on his arm. No response. “If you’re good, we can go look in the toyshop.”

That gets his attention quick enough. He nods, bouncing on his toes again. He frowns when he realises where his bag’s gone, but grabs my fingers anyway. We hurry out of the marketplace before the sight of the Christmas decorations and the scent of mulled wine can make me too nostalgic for that home that will never return.

\--- 

The toyshop is a cheap one, far out of the way of the bustling squares in the city centre. Family-run, or at least it used to be, though they seem to have hired a few new staff in recent years. Mum used to bring me here as a kid. I’d always come home with some new figurine or pack of trading cards, half the price they were in the local shop. It’s a rare treat for Sig, but I know he likes looking at the toys in their display cases, watching the lights of the model ferris wheel go round and round and listening to the mechanical whirrings of the tin trains on their miniscule tracks. Or at least I assume he likes it, because he does that bouncy thing every time I mention it and spends hours with his face up against the glass that surrounds the model village in the centre of the shop.

As he pushes the door open, there’s a jingle of bells and the man behind the counter looks up.

“Hey, guys! If you need anything, just give me a shout.”

I hardly register his greeting, snorting softly at the comment. Siggi barely even whispers to me in public most of the time, let alone shouts. His voice sounds fake-happy, like he’s been told smiling will sell more… Playmobil or Lego or whatever it is kids play with these days. Something in the back of my mind chastises me for that thought. I should know what the kids play with nowadays. But apart from the Bunny Ninja, Sig’s… never really let me close enough to find out.

We walk around a bit, Sig staring in amazement at the colourful boxes while I pretend to be interested. I can’t stop my eyes from falling to the price tags. Some of those boxes of cheap plastic cost more than a fortnight’s groceries.

The model village is still there, thank God. It’s always been my favourite part of the shop. To be honest, bringing Siggi here is only an excuse. When I was little, I wanted a train like that, to go roaring through the mountains back home, steam billowing behind me, gazing out on the lights in the fjords below. Sig’s never seen Norway, never felt the snow on his skin. He’s half-Icelandic, but as far as I know the only ice he’s ever seen is the stuff I kick under the freezer when I think he’s not watching.

Here, the memories are sweet, but not as painful. It’s something we can afford to share, just like Mum shared it with me. I crouch down next to Siggi and lean over his shoulder, pointing out the little jokes and pun in the tiny shop names.

He stares pointedly in the other direction. Well. It was worth a try.

“You okay there?” The man from the counter is back again, hovering behind my shoulder. We must be the only ones in the shop. There’s still that annoying false cheer in his voice. Fitting, really. I can’t remember the last time I heard a voice that rang with genuine happiness. God knows, there’s no room for it in my life. Sigurður is cold and sullen, and if anything, I’m worse.

“Yes,” I say, hoping the monosyllable is enough to satisfy him. Of course it isn’t. “We’re just looking.”

Sig looks up at him, as if he wonders if maybe this toyshop man would make a more interesting companion. Obviously not, because it only lasts a few seconds before he goes back to watching the lights shine on the opposite wall.

“Okay, cool,” the man says. “Okay, okay. ‘S long as you’re okay.” There’s an awkward pause in the conversation as he stops talking, still hovering behind me. “Uh, I was wondering… don’t reckon you could help me put these onto the top shelf? I just need someone to pass them up to me and my colleague’s just gone home with a migraine.”

Oh, of course. Because I don't already have enough going on. I frown and open my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but then I catch Siggi's wide eyes staring up at me. Expecting an agreement. Expecting me to be a better person. 

A better person than I am. A better person than I've become. 

"Sure," I reply, my teeth still gritted. Sig blinks at me slowly in approval. "Yeah, why not?" 

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver." The man laughs and maybe it  _ is _ more genuine than I thought it was. He takes a few steps away, then stops, and I realise he wants me to follow. "There's not many. It's just that my boss is gonna kill me if I don't get these done. Was meanta do them yesterday." 

I turn around, nodding. Hell, I've had Ludwig breathing down my neck enough to know that feeling. The man is facing away now, but from his clothes and the way he holds himself, I'd guess he's barely older than me. Maybe he's the son of the family, or some new hire they got in to deal with the seasonal rush. Maybe we're not so many worlds apart, after all. 

I pick up one of the boxes he points at and pass it up to him as he balances on a step ladder. It's lighter than I expected. It only takes a few seconds to get them all up there before he slides back down and I finally get a good look at his beaming face. 

His dark blond hair shines a bright ginger in the warm light, his cheeks dotted with freckles as delicate as the flickering flames of a winter fire. His features are strong yet kind, in a way that reminds me of the painting of a sailor in a book of old folklore I used to have. 

He’s gorgeous.

For a second, my mind goes blank and I barely even register Sig slipping away as I stare in shock at the man from behind the counter. Does this look weird? He raises an eyebrow and I'm suddenly more self-conscious than ever. What if I’m freaking him out? I rearrange my face into something that looks more like a smile. It’s a weird feeling. Butterflies in my chest, my heart fluttering, my cheeks heating up.

And then something else happens, something that’s never happened before. A squeal from across the shop.

“Lukas! Lukas! Come see!”

I tear my eyes away long enough to see Sig sprint around the corner, sending a pile of trading cards flying. I wince at the mess, ready to apologise to the man who's no doubt judging me hard enough already, but instead he just grins even wider, folding the stepladder away. 

"What've ya found, kiddo?" 

Sigurður skids to a halt. Hesitant. He clings to my legs, shaking his head.  _ Stranger. Scary _ . 

"It's okay," the man says, kneeling down to Sig's level. Sig shuffles further back. "I don't bite." 

Sig glares at him reproachfully. 

"He's-" The man cuts me off before I can explain Sig's condition. I grip tight to his hand, feeling it shake beneath mine. He won't even look up. Please,  _ please, no. Don't make it worse. Please.  _

"But it's okay that you don't want to talk, okay? You don't gotta worry about that." The man stands up, brushing his knees off. "Do you want me to go stand in the back while you tell your dad?" 

_ Dad. _ It's a title I'm not worthy of, not really. I've done nothing to prove myself as a father figure. But the idea that this person, this stranger, thinks I deserve it… Even to the school, I'm Siggi's brother. His guardian at most. 

I take a deep breath, determined to live up to the responsibility. "He'd like that," I say, before a tiny shadow of uncertainty crawls into my mind. "I think." 

The man nods, slipping behind the door to the stockroom. He smiles at me from behind the glass, too high for Siggi to see, and makes a show of putting his hands over his ears. Sig tugs on my hand. “Look!” he whispers. “Look, look, look!”

He drags me over to the far corner of the shop floor. Here, the cold darkness of the street has faded into the warmth of soft fairy lights, lamps attached to the old shelves every few feet to light up the colourful stacks of plastic and cardboard. It’s cramped, but in a charming way, like how you’d imagine an old fairytale cottage. The bright colours of the packaging stand out against the gnarled wood. I narrowly avoid a collision course with a basket of oversized teddy bears which Sig, tiny as he is, dodges with ease.

We come to a stop halfway along the back wall. Of course. Floor to ceiling, the shelves are filled with Bunny Ninja memorabilia - of course that’s what he’d run to. Not too far away, a figure just like Leon’s stands in a line with six other identical copies. Did he get his here? I think for a second that that’s what Sig’s pointing to. Maybe he wants his own. He’s seemed so down since Leon took it back.

Instead, he puts his hands on my cheeks and tilts my face higher, stretching up on his tippy-toes to point right at the top shelf.  _ Limited Edition _ , the cardboard shouts.  _ Comes with a Rare Collectible Figure! _

It’s a puffin. A  _ Bunny Ninja _ puffin. Of course it is.

“Look, Lukas,” he says, staring up at it. “A puffin.” A smile stretches across his face as he leans back.

“A puffin,” I echo. A puffin indeed. A £75.99 puffin. Quickly, I do the maths. Factoring in rent, groceries, fuel, childcare, utilities, the inevitable car repairs I hope won’t happen this month but probably will, that’s… Oh.

“Can we get him?” Siggi’s hands are trembling, but whether it’s from excitement, nerves, or just being tired, I can’t tell. His legs shake as he waves his little hands toward it. “Please?”

“No, Sig.” I sigh. I hate to let him down, but that’s weeks worth of money. Even if I took overtime shifts, it would mean not buying anything else for a good month or so. I know I’m a useless brother. I can do nothing but disappoint him. “You’ve already got a book today. And all these clothes.”

Close to tears, he tugs on my shirt. His lip is quivering, his nose starting to run. “ _ Pleeeaaase.” _

“Maybe for Christmas.”

His eyes light up, and I can’t bring myself to tell him how unlikely it is, how we’ll never have the money. I’ve never seen him look so genuinely  _ excited _ . He tugs on my hand and runs along the pavement, balancing on the cracks between the slabs. There’s a new spring in his step as he hops between the squares, swinging Mr Puffin over his head. I don’t have the heart to stop him. Not when that smile is so rare.


End file.
